


The View from Here

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 05:07:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7300720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ever climbed to the top of a hoop?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The View from Here

“You like heights?” says Daiki.

Shuuzou shrugs. “Sure. Why?”

He’s certainly not afraid of them, if that’s what Daiki’s getting at. And he’d grown up near the top of a hill, remembers running and biking down it and having perpetual skinned knees and scraped-up palms as a result almost every day in first grade. And he’d done almost the same thing in high school minus the cuts and scrapes and lack of coordination; he’d lived close enough to the mountains that he’d been able to spend large chunks of his free time there, running on the trails and biking up on a motorcycle until the gas ran out and he’d coast back down to the station and fill up. And he hadn’t made a point of looking out over the ledges or climbing the faces but he’d enjoyed the views when he could get them.

“Well, you know,” says Daiki. “You don’t like flying.”

“That’s not about that,” says Shuuzou, and it isn’t.

It would be nice to look out the window and enjoy the map below him as if he were placed in a real-life satellite image, but he can’t take his focus off the hum of the engine and how wrong it sounds even when everything is supposedly okay, and the feeling of being that far away from the ground and the knowledge of just how fast they’re going and how precarious the empty air around them is.

Daiki’s still looking at him, shifting in his position on the couch. Shuuzou reaches over and overs Daiki’s knee with his hand, brushing the outside of his thigh with a finger.

“It’s not. Were you going anywhere with this?”

Daiki nods. “Ever climbed to the top of a hoop?”

“No,” says Shuuzou, about to tack on a “why would I?” but then deciding not to—he could ask Daiki if he has but he’s got a feeling he already knows the answer.

“You should do it,” says Daiki. “It’s really fun.”

Shuuzou is about to ask him if he’s sure about it, but he wouldn’t lie about weird shit like this and he’d seen players do it in the NCAA tournament to cut off the net from the hoop and it had seemed silly at the time and it still kind of does (especially separated from personal victory trophies) but Daiki’s always been the type of person to do things just because and it’s not like Shuuzou’s much different.

“Okay. Take me to your favorite court sometime and we’ll do it.”

Daiki flashes him a grin that, regardless of the process, makes everything worth it.

*

Shuuzou doesn’t expect it to take place the coming weekend, but on Sunday morning Daiki drags him out like he can’t wait. They follow a winding path under the hazy morning sun, from street to street and into neighborhoods Shuuzou’s never had more than a cursory familiarity with and then right back out.

The court is deserted when they reach it; there’s a large chunk of asphalt missing behind the near hoop and there might not have ever been nets hanging from either—but they both look scalable, supported by thick metal beams with enough footholds to get him close enough to the top. Getting down is another story, but, well. He’s got to go up first.

Daiki nudges him. “You ready?”

“I’m not backing out,” says Shuuzou, throwing him a grin.

It’s easier than he’d built it up to be, a running jump to grab the lower bar and then pull himself up into a sitting position; from there he stands and walks himself over to the backboard, only letting go of the upper bar for half a second as he shifts his hands to the board beside him, stabilizing his stance. It’s then he finally looks down at Daiki, who’s flashing him the thumbs up.

The top of the backboard never looks this high from the ground, but it feels like he’s almost a kilometer in the air, gazing down at something untouchable, the way he’s always thought being in a cruising airplane should be.

“I should take a picture,” says Daiki, but he hasn’t pulled out his phone yet.

“They’ll fucking arrest us.”

“Arrest you. I’m just telling you to get down.”

“Ass,” says Shuuzou.

He shifts his weight; for a second it’s unsteady and the world sways but then he grips the board tight enough to keep him upright. From here, his vision clears the barbed-wire top of the chain link fence and he can see the street outside unobstructed, the rooftops of cars, blue and black and white and beige. It’s not high enough to see over the tops of the tenements on the other side of the street but he’s not staring up at them, either. Below them, a train rumbles by and the miniature sways of the supports rock him almost too much. Maybe he should get down.

“It’s awesome, isn’t it?” Daiki’s grinning up at him, full and energetic and if Shuuzou squints to get the glare of the asphalt out of his eyes he can almost see the way Daiki looked when he was twelve and he’d just done something he’d absolutely known he could but never tried.

Shuuzou nods, trying to swallow the lump in his throat and get it to where the acid in his stomach can break it up. His knuckles feel stiff, swelling in the humidity, the air just as thick and smoggy up here as it is below (and this is nothing like the California mountains, where he’d be up above the pollution and breathing in the dry, consistent air but it might be better in its own way).

“Need help?” says Daiki. “I’ll catch you if you fall.”

His grin is now nothing like that, the mocking affection clearer than an empty water bottle. Shuuzou rolls his eyes.

“A little help would be nice.”

Daiki holds out his arms. Shuuzou sighs.

He’s able to swing his legs around, and gradually lowers himself down until he’s hanging from the bar. It’s not far to the ground; his shoes will get the shock. For a second, he imagines the feeling of Daiki catching him and then decides it’s too weird and probably too dangerous. Shuuzou lets himself fall.

His shoes don’t do much for his knees; he winces as he lands and shakes out his back.

“Something wrong, old man?”

“Yeah,” says Shuuzou. “You’re giving me too much lip.”

He flicks Daiki’s forehead. Daiki scowls and mumbles something unintelligible and he looks so much like a cat just sprayed with water that it’s way too cute. Shuuzou kisses the quickly-disappearing red mark, and Daiki makes a defeated sort of sound.

“Thanks for showing me that,” says Shuuzou.

Daiki throws his arm around Shuuzou’s shoulders. “No problem.”

The weight of his arm is nice (it’s never not, no matter how much muscle he gains) and even though it’s too hot to stay this close Shuuzou let him for more time than they should. But they’ll have more time in their air-conditioned apartment to touch each other, to say things (even though right now there’s almost nothing to be said, only to be thought). They stand, the links on the fence far from them, holding off the street and the cars and the buildings, until Shuuzou thinks to speak.

“You want to go up?” he says, pointing at the hoop.

“Nah,” says Daiki. “Not now, anyway.”

“So we’re going to come all the way back here so you can climb up a hoop?”

Daiki snorts. “Only after I’ve kicked your ass in a one-on-one.”

He darts in to kiss Shuuzou’s cheek, and Shuuzou supposes he’ll let it slide for now. And then Daiki makes a pleased sort of hum in the back of his throat and he totally shouldn’t have, but whatever.

“Let’s go back,” says Daiki, tugging on his shirt.  

Shuuzou acquiesces, following his lead (he knows the way back, after all). It’s too unwieldy to walk in this position, and so Daiki withdraws his arm from Shuuzou’s shoulders and they walk side-by-side, still close enough to feel the air moving in response to each other’s bodies.

**Author's Note:**

> it occurred to me recently that i'd written far too little canonverse nijiao so i hope this goes a short way toward rectifying that....


End file.
